


Till the Stars Burn Out Above You

by Meghan Page (mutter11)



Category: Carol (2015), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke as Therese, F/F, Lexa as Carol, Mild Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, carol au, minor mention of others characters but not enough to tag, yes it follows the movie very closely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutter11/pseuds/Meghan%20Page
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm going away for a while.<br/>When? Where?<br/>Wherever my car will take me. West. Soon. And I thought... perhaps, you might like to come with me. Would you?<br/>Yes. Yes, I would.</p><p>A Clexa Carol AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from No Other Love by Jo Stafford, which is on the Carol soundtrack

The alarm blared next to Clarke’s head, startling her from sleep. Eyes still closed, she slapped it off, then tumbled from bed, shivering as her bare feet hit the wooden floor. She pulled her pink knit blanket around her shoulders and brushed her unruly hair back from her face.

With a sigh, she made her way into her kitchen, kneeling to turn on the little gas stove. She lit a match from the box in the counter, humming in satisfaction as the fire caught inside the stove with a small whoosh. It wouldn’t help much now, as she would be leaving for Washington’s soon, but hopefully it would chase away the frigid chill for when she got back home.

She had just crossed over to the sink and started to brush her teeth when she heard the doorbell. It must be Finn – she recognized his long ring. Hurriedly, she spit and rinsed, wiping her face with the threadbare towel there.

Jogging to the window, she lifted the sash, propping it up with a stick, and stuck her head out. Just as she expected, there Finn was, a Stetson perched on his long hair as he leaned against his silver bicycle.

“I like your scribbles,” she called out to him.

Surprised, he glanced at the ground around him, which neighborhood children had decorated with chalk. “Yeah, I’ve been busy,” he said laughingly. He took a moment to look at her. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“What?” Clarke asked.

Finn gestured up to her. “You look like a million bucks first thing in the morning!”

Clarke smiled. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

It was Finn’s habit to pick Clarke up in the morning and ride them both into work on his bicycle. Clarke threw on her turtleneck and dress, clipping her father’s watch into place beneath the three-quarter-length sleeves and tying back her hair with a thick black headband. She shoved her feet into her shoes and grabbed her coat and hat on the way out the door, throwing them on as she scurried down the steps.

As she came out the door of her apartment building, he smiled and waved to her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she gasped, pulling the strap of her satchel over her head. “I overslept my alarm. Are you freezing?”

“No, I’m all right,” Finn said agreeably. He held the bike out towards her, and she settled onto the seat, her feet hanging behind the pedals. Finn hiked his leg over the frame and stood in front of her until she put her hands on his waist. Then he pushed them off, standing up on the pedals as they moved down the street.

They rode in silence for a while, Clarke simply staring at the back of Finn’s black coat and trying to recall a dream she had that night. She could remember falling, but she wasn’t scared, because she knew someone was there to catch her.

Suddenly, Finn spoke up. “So I got the schedules in the mail,” he said. Clarke stayed silent, the sense of discomfort she always felt when he brought up their trip filling her chest. Finn bounced a little on the pedals. “You listening to me?”

“I’m listening, you got the schedules,” she repeated.

Ignoring her blunt tone, he went on. “There’s two sailings to France in June and one in July.”

“Wow.” Clarke couldn’t think of an appropriately enthused answer.

“What do you think?” Finn asked, turning his head slightly towards her.

“I think…” she hesitated. What could she say to him? That he was moving too fast? That she wanted him to stop asking? “I think it’s too cold! I can’t think straight.”

Finn laughed, leaning forward as he pedaled. “Alright, let’s get you warmed up.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the employee entrance to Washington’s. Finn locked up his bike, then walked Clarke inside, where they joined the line of employees waiting to punch in. A man was giving Santa hats out to everyone as they walked by, repeating “Season’s greetings from the management” in a rush as he handed them to each person.

Finn took Clarke hands in his and began to chafe them, but Clarke pulled them away and stuffed them in her pockets.

“You know, my mom still wants to make that dress for you,” he told her. “She keeps asking when you’re coming by, so she can take your measurements.”

The uneasy feeling came over Clarke again. “Is she sure?” she asked. “It’s a lot of work to make a dress…”

“Yeah, she’s pretty excited about it,” he told her. Lowering his voice slightly, he continued, “Anyways, she’s just going crazy with no girls in the family but Raven.”

Clarke looked up at him, her face softening. “How is Raven?”

“She’ll pull through,” Finn said, but Clarke could hear the worry behind his words. Ever since Raven had lost the use of one of her legs, things had been very hard for her and the family.

They reached the man and each took a hat, then stepped through the doors to the stairwell.

“I’ve gotta open the floor.” Finn bent down to give her a kiss.

Clarke returned it mindlessly. “See you later.”

She watched him as he took the stairs two at a time, then made her way up after him.

The cafeteria of the department store was a drab, cold place, its featureless walls and austere rows of tables making it feel like a prison. Most everyone ate with their heads down, and the few groups who did talk did so in low voices. Clarke set down her tray of coffee and a biscuit down in an empty spot and pulled out her employee manual. She had already read it the week before at orientation, but she had forgotten her copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man at home. Finn had been urging her to read it, and since he never seemed interested in the books she liked, she was excited to have a book in common to discuss.

As she was nearing the bottom of her cup, she heard someone calling her name from the doorway. “Miss Griffin!” It was Mrs. Byrne, the section manager of her department. “You’re needed upstairs. Make it snappy.”

Clarke hurried to put her things away and met Mrs. Byrne in the hallway.

“You’re at the doll desk today, so you need to get up there and take inventory. Also, turn on the train sets while you’re there,” the woman told her.

Clarke nodded to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

On the sixth floor, Clarke made her way to the doll desk in the center of the room. Dropping her Santa hat on the counter, she picked up the clipboard with its list of stock and began to count boxes.

Once she had inventoried all of the dolls behind the counter, she neatened a few on display, then made her way around the sales floor, switching on the various model trains.

She lingered near the last one, one of her favorites. Its miniature pistons always sounded so fierce, as if it were trying to launch itself off its track. It roared around a tiny city, complete with flashing warning lights and a gate that lowered when the train went by.

Clarke leaned her chin on her crossed arms, watching the plastic station master pop out of his doorway as the train surged past him.

“Good morning, happy holidays, and welcome shoppers, to Washington’s,” a mellow voice sounded from the speakers as the overhead lights turned on around the room. Clarke startled up from the case. The store was open.

She made her way back behind her desk, weaving her way between other employees putting away last boxes of toys. She had just settled when she heard the ding of the elevators announcing the arrival of the first customers of the day. Clarke watched as they streamed into the room – mostly women, but some men – and made their way throughout the floor. The few children that were there dragged their parents by the hand to the toys they wanted.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke caught sight of Mrs. Byrne. The manager frowned severely, then jabbed a finger at her head. Clarke remembered her Santa hat on the counter and pulled it on, smoothing down the bauble with an apologetic look at Mrs. Byrne.

Soon enough, Clarke had a sizable queue in front of her. She helped parents find the dolls they wanted, or decide between one kind and another. The customers that broke her heart were the ones that came in in threadbare coats, asking her the price of a doll. They would sigh when she told them the figure, sadly shaking their heads. She wanted to press the toy into their hands, urging them to take it, assuring them she didn’t care. But they would always leave so quickly, disappearing back towards the elevators.

Finally there was a break in the stream of people, and she picked up her clipboard to mark off the dolls sold. She let her eyes wander around the room, until they fell on the train set she had watched that morning.

Clarke felt herself freeze.

Standing behind the table was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Golden brown hair fell in curls down her back, cascading over the collar of her rich fur coat. Her lips were painted a daring red, and her cheekbones were highlighted with a tinge of rouge. As Clarke watched, transfixed, she loosened the burgundy scarf at her throat and slipped off her dark leather gloves.

The woman gazed at the train set for a moment, then shifted, looking below the display. The train had stopped moving; her coat must have caught on the switch.

The woman glanced around to check if anyone saw, and before Clarke could look away, their eyes caught.

A spark ran down Clarke’s spine. The woman had the greenest eyes she had ever seen. She couldn’t look away.

“Miss? Miss, where’s the lady’s room, honey?”

Clarke dragged her eyes away from the woman to the mother standing in front of her, her small daughter balanced on her hip.

Clarke pointed towards the elevators. “If you go back to the elevators and make a left you can’t miss it.”

As soon as the mother left, Clarke looked back towards the train set. But the woman was gone. In her place, three small boys clambered on the sides of the display case.

Clarke felt her heart sink in her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke wasn’t quite sure why a woman she saw in passing in a department store would have captured her interest so thoroughly, but as soon as she disappeared, she felt her heart plummet from where it had stuck in her throat. There was something entrancing about the woman that had immediately drawn Clarke to her.

But she would likely never see her again. Clarke tried to push the woman from her mind, focusing on helping the next several customers.

She was bent over, rearranging a couple boxes in the display case under the counter, when she heard the soft slap of leather on the glass over her head.

Clarke jerked upright and found a familiar pair of dark leather gloves on the counter. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes continued up. It was the woman.

“I wonder if you might help me find this doll for my daughter,” she said in a smooth, low voice.

Clarke took the slip of paper she held out, trying to keep her fingers from trembling.

“Bright Betsy,” she read. “Oh, she cries. And wets herself. But I’m afraid we’re all out of stock.”

“Oh,” the woman sighed, slipping the paper back into her purse. “Left it too long.”

Clarke’s heart gave a painful clang at disappointing her. She began to babble, fidgeting with the dolls on display. “But we have plenty of other dolls. All kinds, actually –”

The woman cut her off. “Right. What was your favorite doll when you were four?” she asked pensively, pulling a silver cigarette case out of her purse.

“Me?” Clarke was taken aback for a second. “Oh, I never – not many, to be honest.”

The woman put a cigarette between her lips and began to lift her lighter to it.

Clarke’s hand twitched as if to take her wrist, but she held herself back. “I’m sorry, you’re not allowed to smoke on the sales floor,” she said.

“Of all –” the woman began. With a disgruntled gesture, she put the cigarette back in the case. She looked at Clarke apologetically. “Forgive me. Shopping makes me nervous.”

Clarke gave a small laugh and smiled at her. “That’s all right. Working here makes me nervous.”

“You’re very kind,” the woman laughed in return. She put the cigarette case back in her purse, then fiddled with a small, square object before pulling it out. “Here she is.”

She turned it around, and Clarke saw that it was a small black frame with a picture of a young girl inside. The girl’s round face, her cheeks dimpled in a smile, was framed by short, dark hair with bangs.

“She looks like you,” Clarke said, lightly touching the photo with her fingertips. “Around the eyes.”

Up close, the woman’s green eyes were even more vibrant than Clarke had initially thought. They were almost difficult to look at.

“You think so?” the woman asked, turning the picture back around. She ran her fingers lovingly over the edges. “What did you want when you were this age?”

Clarke didn’t have to think very hard to remember; that had been one of her happiest Christmases, and she recalled it to this day. “A train set.”

The woman looked surprised. “Really?”

Clarke nodded readily.

“Do you know much about train sets?” the woman asked.

“I do, actually,” Clarke said with pleasure and a little pride. “We just got a new model in last week, it’s hand built with hand painted cars. It’s a limited addition of $5000. You might’ve seen it on the way in over by the elevators.” The woman looked in that direction while Clarke glanced about her a little helplessly. “I would show you, but I’m sort of confined by this desk.”

The woman stared towards the elevators for a moment, then turned back to Clarke. “Do you ship?”

“Special delivery, you could have it in two or three days,” Clarke told her. “They’d even assemble it for you.”

“Well,” the woman said, a smile forming on her lips. “That’s that. Sold.”

Clarke smiled at her, pleased to have been able to help her after all.

There was a moment of silence, then the woman asked, “Shall I pay now?”

Clarke shook herself, embarrassed to have forgotten. “Oh, yes, of course.” She pulled the small archboard clipboard of shipping slips and a pen from under the register. After filling out her employee information, she slid it to the woman. “I need your account details and shipping address.”

“Of course,” the woman said. As she bent to write, a few curls slipped over her shoulder, and she brushed them away with a careless gesture. Clarke watched her hands loop gracefully through her signature – Mrs. R. F. Aird.

“I love Christmas,” Mrs. Aird said. “Wrapping presents and all that. And then somehow you wind up overcooking the turkey anyway,” she finished ruefully.

She turned the archboard back to Clarke. “Done.” As she began to gather up her purse, she asked, “Where’d you learn so much about train sets anyway?”

“My father was an engineer. He liked anything mechanical, so I got a lot of models sets as a child,” Clarke told her. “Also, I read. Too much, probably.”

Mrs. Aird smiled at her. “That’s refreshing.”

Clarke tore the copy of the shipping slip from the archboard and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Aird said, tucking it into her purse. With a playful smile, she turned to go. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Clarke echoed.

Mrs. Aird walked a few feet away, then turned back towards her. “I like the hat,” she stage whispered, gesturing to her own head. Her eyes flicked up and down Clarke’s body for a split second, then she stepped away.

Clarke blushed, but felt a smile tug at her lips.

She watched as Mrs. Aird walked away, memorizing the bounce of her hair and swing of her jacket, until her black heels had disappeared around the corner.

With a sigh, Clarke put the archboard back under the register. As she turned back around, she caught sight of something on the counter. Off to the side lay Mrs. Aird’s gloves.

Clarke looked back towards the elevators, as if she could make Mrs. Aird reappear with the power of her thoughts. She picked the gloves up, running her fingers over the soft leather. She had to return them to Mrs. Aird somehow.

In a flash, she remembered the shipping slip. She remembered Mrs. Aird’s address; the elegant sweep of her long fingers as she wrote was burned into her mind. If Mrs. Aird hadn’t come back by the end of the day, she would mail them back to her.

Clarke couldn’t keep her eyes away from the elevators; every time she heard them ding, she glanced over, half expecting to see Mrs. Aird’s elegant form appear around the corner. But by the time Clarke’s shift ended, the woman still hadn’t returned. She briefly considered leaving the gloves with the lost and found, but found she couldn’t quite let them go. Besides, she reasoned with herself, Mrs. Aird might not think to look there.

Making her way downstairs, Clarke had a sudden inspiration and stopped in the greeting-card department on the first floor. It might be nice to send a card along with the gloves, to wish Mrs. Aird a Merry Christmas. The card she picked was rather simple, in blue and gold, but it was pretty. She took it down to the lockers, and spent an agonizing five minutes trying to figure out what to write. What she wanted to say – “You are magnificent,” or, “I can’t get you out of my head” – was too personal to write down, so instead she wrote the horribly boring, “Special salutations from Washington's” and signed it with her employee number, 645-A, instead of her name.

As she opened her locker, the shrill ring of the end-of-shift bell sounded. Clarke stood there for a moment, letting the sound buzz inside her skull, hoping to drown out her racing thoughts, before placing her Santa hat and manual inside the locker.

She tucked the gloves and card into her satchel and met Finn back outside. They biked a few blocks away to meet some of Finn’s friends, Bellamy and Octavia Blake, for a movie. Bellamy knew the projectionist, and he let them sneak into the projection booth. The theater was playing Sunset Boulevard that night, which Clarke had been dying to see.

Finn pulled her onto his lap as they settled around the small window in front of the projector and began playing with her hair. Octavia leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette, not even paying attention to the movie, while Bellamy pulled out a small notebook.

They all chatted softly through the beginning of the movie, Clarke switching her attention between the screen and the conversation.

“Move over,” Octavia admonished Bellamy when he began to lean into the window. “Nobody else can see the screen.”

“Nobody else is watching,” Finn said.

Clarke nudged her shoulder back into him. “I’m watching.”

“I’ve seen it six times,” Bellamy told her.

“Really?” she asked.

Bellamy gestured with his notebook. “Right now I’m charting the correlation between what the characters say and how they really feel.”

“My big brother, the movie jerk,” Octavia mocked.

Clarke smiled. She thought it was cute that he would be that interested.

After the movie, the four friends make their way to a nearby bar. They worked their way through a dozen beers, talking about nothing as they grew more drunk.

“I’m strictly a beer man,” Bellamy said with a laugh. “Everything else makes me want to vomit.”

Clarke fingered the stem of her wineglass. “Well, wine makes me feel naughty but in a good way.”

Finn piped in, “I drink to forget I gotta get up for work in the morning.”

Octavia scoffed. “See, that’s your problem, Collins. You really oughta drink _because_ you remember you’ve got a job.” She shook her head. “Employment’s a curse.”

“You’ve got a job, Octavia,” Clarke pointed out.

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “You call that a job? I call that an illusion.”

“You get paid,” Bellamy said, tipping his beer bottle at her. “Is money an illusion?”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “My big brother, the jerk philosopher.”

Clarke turned to Bellamy. “Where do you work?”

Finn smirked, putting on a bit of teasing swagger. “Didn’t you know? Bellamy works at the American Museum of Natural History.”

“No kidding.” Admiration colored Clarke’s tone.

“It’s a job,” Bellamy said humbly. “What I really want to do is teach history.”

“Say, Clarke, before I get too drunk to remember…” Octavia dug into her bag and pulled out a worn leather-bound sketchpad.

Clarke gasped in excitement, standing in her stool to reach across the bar for it. “You found it! I was afraid I’d lost it forever after your last party.”

“It ended up on top of my refrigerator, if you’d believe it,” Octavia laughed.

Clarke flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, taking in her old sketches and watercolors. “Thank you, Octavia, I was missing it.”

Bellamy leaned towards her. “So you draw pictures?” he asked.

Clarke closed the book, smoothing her hands over the cover. “Some. Landscapes and sketches.”

Finn leaned towards Octavia as if he was going to tell her a secret, but said loudly enough for Bellamy and Clarke to hear, “She’s more excited about a chintzy sketchbook than she is about sailing with me to Europe.

“Women,” Octavia said with a roll of her eyes.

Finn pushed at her shoulder with a bark of laughter. “You said it, pal.”

Soon after, it became apparent that Octavia and Finn were silently trying to drink each other under the table, so Bellamy closed the group’s tab before they could kill themselves. He and Clarke ushered the pair out of the bar, where they threw their arms around each other and began to stagger home. Clarke and Bellamy walked several feet behind, watching to make sure neither stepped into the street.

After a few blocks of drunken yelling and laughter, they finally made it to Clarke’s apartment. Of course, it was then that Finn had to go stumbling straight into a tree, knocking himself over and bringing his bike down on top of him.

“Finn, be careful!” Clarke called, as Octavia giggled and staggered as she tried to haul him back up.

With a small shake of her head, Clarke left them to it and turned back to Bellamy.

“Say,” Bellamy said, looking a little nervous, “you should come by the museum for dinner sometime. I work nights, so. I’ve got a pal who sets up the backdrops for displays, he loves to pontificate. I’ll introduce you.”

“Really?” Clarke asked. A real job as an artist. Even if it was just painting landscapes for museum displays, thousands of people would see it. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy asked, a smile spreading across his face. Clarke nodded. “Ok.”

They said their goodbyes, and Bellamy guided Octavia down the street as Clarke pulled Finn up the stairs and into her apartment. She helped him take off his coat and shoes, then placed him in her bed, where he immediately began to snore.

After taking off her own shoes and hat, she sat down at her kitchen table, Mrs. Aird’s gloves and her card laying before her. She looked through the door to Finn’s sleeping form, wondering at the difference she felt between him and Mrs. Aird. Even in just the short amount of time Clarke had spent with her, the woman had made her feel more alive than Finn ever had. There had been a spark of something that had taken hold of Clarke, and now refused to let go.

Before she could lose her nerve, she wrote down Mrs. Aird’s address on a packing envelope and slid the gloves and card inside, then hurried across the street to the mailbox. As she held the envelope half-in and half-out of the slot, she was struck with the idea that her life was on a teetering point, too. As soon as she let go, everything would change.

She opened her hand, and let the envelope fall.


	3. Chapter 3

Lexa sat in front of her vanity, Tenley seated on her lap as she ran a brush through her daughter’s soft, short hair.

“64, 65, 66…” Tenley counted, making Lexa smile. She was always impressed and proud that the little girl could already count so high.

Suddenly, she heard the front door open and close below them, and a deep voice greet the housekeeper, Florence.

“That must be your dad,” she said to Tenley. “C’mon. Better finish up.”

She ran her fingers through Tenley’s hair, making sure it laid flat.

“Nomon, can you come skating too?” the girl asked, squirming on Lexa’s lap to face her.

“I wish I could, sweet pea,” Lexa said, playing with Tenley’s bangs.

“Why not, pretty please?” Tenley pleaded, her lower lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout.

Instead of answering, Lexa placed a kiss to her forehead, her arms wrapped tight around her daughter.

Behind her, she heard the door open, and Roan called out, “Hiya, sunshine!”

Tenley let out an excited gasp, scrambling off of Lexa’s lap and into Roan’s waiting arms. “Nontu, I want Nomon to come,” she told him.

“You do, do ya?” he said, not bothering to look at Lexa as he bounced Tenley in his arms.

“You’re early,” Lexa informed him cooly.

Roan finally glanced at her, then threw a stack of envelopes onto the bed. “Mail came.”

Lexa nodded silently as Roan made his way from the room with Tenley on his hip. She sat at the vanity for a moment, her eyes closed, then got up and crossed to the window. As she watched, Roan placed Tenley in the back of the waiting car, then crossed around to the other side. There was a brief pause as he gave the driver instructions before the car rolled smoothly down the driveway.

Lexa sat back down at the vanity, letting her mouth droop into a frown. Although she didn’t regret the decision to pursue a divorce, she did miss the time it made her lose with her daughter. Although she and Roan were technically still together, they felt it might help to practice spending less time with each other, to get Tenley used to it. Lexa couldn’t say she was too bothered with spending the day away from Roan and the anger he always carried just beneath the surface.

With a sigh, she swiped the mail from the bed and began to go through it. Most of the envelopes were bills, which she threw back on the bed to make Roan deal with, but a packing envelope caught her attention.

She wasn’t expecting any packages of that size, and she didn’t recognize the return address, but it was addressed specifically to her – Mrs. Q. F. Aird.

Lexa carried it down to the living room, where she sliced it open with her wooden letter opener. She tilted the envelope over her hand, and out slid her leather gloves, along with a blue and gold card. Setting the envelope down and card down, she smiled as she slapped the gloves against her palm; she had thought them lost forever.

She set the gloves down and picked up the card, flipping it over briefly before opening it. Inside was only a dull greeting from the department store, Washington’s, where she had lost the gloves, and a number in place of the signature. Lexa chuckled a bit. It seemed a little silly to go through the trouble of buying a card and not even sign it.

The note from Washington’s reminded her of the train set she had ordered. If the gloves had already come, she suspected the set wouldn’t be too far behind it. She figured she had better stay home to receive it.

She crossed over to the phone, thinking she would call Costia in the meantime to tell her about the card. Before Lexa knew it, they had begun gossiping, and time ticked by until she heard the doorbell ring.

She said a hasty goodbye to Costia and hurried to the door, which Florence had already answered. A man was standing in the doorway, outfitted in a green coverall emblazoned with the Washington’s logo on the left breast, a Santa hat perched on his head.

“Are you Mrs. Aird?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” Lexa confirmed, stepping forward with a nod to Florence that she could go.

The deliveryman held out a clipboard. “I just need you to sign this slip, and I can go ahead with setting up your train set.”

Lexa took the clipboard, quickly scrawling her signature, then ushered the man inside. He pulled a small dolly behind him, a large square package balanced on its tines.

She led him into the parlor, where he immediately got down on his knees and began pulling parts from the box.

Lexa took a cigarette from the ceramic box on the side table and lit it. As she smoked, she leaned against the piano in the adjoining room and watched the man work.

“So,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Are the hats standard issue this time of year?”

“Yes ma’am,” the deliveryman nodded. “Management gives them out to all the employees.”

“I see,” Lexa replied, thinking of the young woman she had ordered the train set from. She had looked rather adorable in her own red hat.

After the deliveryman left, Lexa hid the set under a cloth amongst her pile of Christmas tree decorations. She lounged around for the rest of the afternoon, sipping at a gin and tonic, until she heard Roan’s deep rumble and Tenley’s high laugh coming through the front door.

She met them in the foyer, scooping Tenley up in her arms with a kiss.

“How was skating?” she asked the girl.

“It was fun!” Tenley exclaimed. “Nontu fell down.”

“Did he?” Lexa laughed, nuzzling her daughter’s rosy cheek.

She listened to the little girl excitedly ramble about her day as she helped her out of her coat and shoes, then carried her into the breakfast nook, where Tenley pulled out her coloring book and crayons. Roan silently followed behind them.

As he sat down, he picked up a crayon and began to pluck at the wrapper.

“Jasper Jordan’s wife –” he began, but Lexa cut him off.

“Maya,” she corrected.

Roan paused, irritated at being interrupted, but continued. “Maya asked about you.”

Lexa stopped for a moment; she knew where this was going. Roan kept trying to convince her to go to the party Jasper and Maya were hosting. “Did she?” She turned to Tenley, handing her a brown crayon. “You want to color the trunk, honey?”

“I know she’d love to see you there,” Roan said.

“Well, give her my best,” she told him. “I’ve always liked Maya.”

Roan softened his voice. “I’d like you to be there.”

“Sorry, Roan, I have plans,” Lexa said, leaning back in her chair.

“Nomon wants to give Aunt Costia’s present,” Tenley piped up, smiling blithely at her father.

A hard look came into Roan’s eyes, but he smiled down at her. “You’ve been seeing a lot of Aunt Costia lately, haven’t you, sunshine?”

“Yes,” Tenley agreed.

“With Nomon,” Roan continued, fixing Lexa with a stare.

She shifted uncomfortably for a moment, glancing towards the kitchen, where Florence may have been listening. “I’ll see if I can rearrange with Costia.”

Roan nodded. “Thank you.”

\----------

Clarke stood in line to check in with the bookkeeper that kept track of orders from the store.

“I told the customer it would arrive by Christmas Eve,” she told him when she reached the front of the line. “According to what we’ve been told, three days should be enough –”

The man cut her off with a brusque, “Should’ve been delivered this afternoon.”

“Oh,” Clarke replied. She had expected a little more of a fight. “So it arrived? She signed for it?”

The man looked up at her, his arched brows signaling his annoyance. “It arrived.”

Clarke nodded, stepping away. “Thank you. Thanks.”

The day passed like all the others that week – parents bustled around the floor, trying to find the perfect toy for their child. Many asked for her advice on which one to get, trying to decide between two incredibly similar dolls.

Clarke was in the middle of one such discussion when she heard Mrs. Byrne’s voice from across the floor.

“Griffin. Miss Griffin,” she called, gesturing Clarke over to where she was standing with the phone in her hand. “Over here, please. Now.”

The manager snapped her fingers at another worker, pointing her towards Clarke’s desk.

“I’m sorry, will you excuse me?” Clarke said to her customer. “I’ll just be one moment.”

She crossed over to Mrs. Byrne, who handed her the phone with a pinched expression.

“Hello?” Clarke said, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Is this employee 645-A, Clarke Griffin?” the tinny voice of the operator asked.

“Yes…” Clarke confirmed, wondering what this was all about.

“I’ll patch you through,” the operator told her.

Clarke heard the line connect, and there was a brief moment of silence before she ventured, “Hello?”

On the other line, she heard a warm, smooth voice say, “So it was you.”

Clarke felt her heart jump in her chest. She would recognize that voice anywhere. “Oh hello, Mrs. Aird. Did you receive the train set all right?”

“I did, yes. And the gloves. Thank you so much, you’re a star for sending them.” Clarke felt a warm feeling flutter in her chest at the woman’s words. Mrs. Aird continued, stuttering a bit, “I just wanted to say thank you, really.”

“Of course,” Clarke replied softly. Sending the gloves and card had been worth it, if she got to hear Mrs. Aird’s voice again.

Clarke was expected her to say goodbye then, but Mrs. Aird went on a little tentatively, “Wh- what I wanted to say was… do you have a lunch hour there? Well – let me take you to lunch, it the least I can do.”

It took Clarke a second to get over the surprise. “Well, yes I – of course, but you really don’t have to –”

“I’m free tomorrow,” Mrs. Aird said in a low voice.

“Tomorrow?” Clarke repeated. She hadn’t expected to see the woman ever again, and now she was asking to meet so soon? Clarke felt like she was dreaming.

“Do you know Scotty’s on Madison?” Mrs. Aird was asking her.

Clarke glanced around, trying to find something to write on. “No, I don’t know it, hold on,” she told Mrs. Aird. Leaning towards Mrs. Byrne, who hovered nearby, she asked, “Can I borrow a pencil and paper?”

The irritable look on the manager’s face deepened, but she passed Clarke a notepad and pen. Clarke nodded to her. “Thank you.”

Turning back around, she pressed the phone between her shoulder and ear, poised to write. “All right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for an excuse to include Trigedasleng!
> 
> Nomon - mother  
> Nontu - father


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Aird was late.

Not by much, only – Clarke looked at her father’s watch – eight minutes. But Clarke had arrived at Scotty’s ten minutes before their meeting time, by way of a hard-won pleading session with Mrs. Byrne, meaning she had already been waiting for a while.

She peered out through the window of the restaurant’s entryway once more, where she finally caught sight of a familiar figure half-jogging across the road. A small smile crossed her face as she took in the bundled-up form, sunglasses on, a scarf wrapped around her hair, her shoulders draped in the tan fur coat.

Mrs. Aird spotted her just before she bustled through the door, giving her a genteel smile as she gave the host her name.

He took their coats, and Clarke took a moment to admire the slim grey dress she wore, accented with a daring red scarf and shoes. Her hair curled stylishly over her shoulders, glinting in the restaurant’s low light. Clarke felt childish in comparison, in her white shirt and dark vest. At least this time she had worn heeled shoes.

They followed a waiter into the sunken dining area, where they slipped into the high, wooden booth he showed them.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” Mrs. Aird told Clarke, as they settled across from each other.

Clarke smiled with a slight shake of her head, signaling that she didn’t mind. At this point she was certain she was going to be late back to work, making Mrs. Byrne even angrier, but she found she didn’t care. As long as she got to spend this time with Mrs. Aird.

The waiter held out menus to both of them, and Clarke took hers, beginning to flip through it. But Mrs. Aird didn’t even take hers before ordering. “I’ll have the creamed spinach over poached eggs, and a dry martini with an olive.”

The waiter looked at Clarke as Mrs. Aird pulled her cigarette case from her purse. Her eyes skittered over the menu full of unfamiliar foods. In a panic, she said, “Um, I’ll have the same.”

“The meal or the drink?” the waiter questioned.

“Um, all of it, thank you,” Clarke told him as she handed back the menu.

As he left, she cursed inwardly. Not even five minutes into lunch and she was already making a fool of herself in front of this poised, beautiful woman.

As if sensing her discomfort, Mrs. Aird held out her cigarette case to Clarke. “Cigarette?” she offered, the one already between her lips wagging slightly with the word.

“Yes, please,” Clarke said, taking one between her fingers.

Mrs. Aird held out her lighter, and Clarke bent over it, feeling odd that close to the woman’s hand. After her cigarette caught, Mrs. Aird put the flame to her own. Clarke fidgeted in her seat, trying to quash the nerves that had caught hold of her.

“So what is your first name, Miss Griffin?” Mrs. Aird asked her, breaking the silence.

“Clarke. With an e,” Clarke felt compelled to clarify.

“Clarke with an e?” Mrs. Aird asked with an amused smile. “That’s very original.”

“Well.” Clarke was unsure quite how to respond.

“Clarke Griffin,” Mrs. Aird said, as if testing out the sound. She looked into Clarke’s eyes, her smile softening. “It’s lovely.”

Clarke felt herself flush. “And yours?” she managed to ask.

“Lexa,” the woman told her.

“Lexa,” Clarke repeated experimentally. She liked the way the name tasted in her mouth.

At that moment, their waiter reappeared, setting two glasses down on the table. “Two dry martinis,” he announced.

Lexa thanked him, then held her glass towards Clarke. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Clarke echoed, clinking her glass lightly against Lexa’s.

She took a sip of the martini, feeling the burn of alcohol as it slid down her throat.

“So, I’m sure you thought it was a man who sent you back your gloves,” she said, grasping at the first topic of conversation that came to mind.

“I did,” Lexa admitted with a chuckle. “I thought it might’ve been a man in the ski department.” Her tone carried a hint of distaste.

Clarke laughed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m delighted,” Lexa said, a coy smile spreading across her lips. “I doubt very much I would have gone to lunch with him.”

Clarke heart pounded in her throat. Suddenly, as Lexa pushed aside her hair and rubbed at the back of her neck, a dusky, sweet scent reached her nostrils.

“Your perfume,” she said softly, recognizing that must be where the smell was coming from.

“Yes?” Lexa asked.

Clarke blushed again; she hadn’t meant to say anything. “It’s nice,” she told Lexa.

“Thank you. Quint bought me a bottle years ago, before we were married, and I’ve been wearing it ever since,” she said, a wry smile accompanying her words.

Some of the excited energy drained from Clarke as she remembered the “Mrs.” in front of Lexa’s name. “Quint is your husband?”

“Mm-hm,” Lexa hummed in affirmation. “Well, technically. We- we’re divorcing.”

The news might have been welcome to Clarke, but she saw how Lexa’s eyes dulled at the mention of it, and was sorry instead.

She said so to Lexa, who waved her off with the hand holding her cigarette. “Don’t be.” She visibly put the mood aside, taking a drag on her cigarette.

Looking back at Clarke, she raised an eyebrow impishly. “And you live alone, Clarke Griffin?” she asked, clicking her tongue on the k.

Clarke grinned at the playful tone. “I do. Well, there’s Finn, he’d like to live with me.” Realizing the improper implications of her statement, she rushed to explain, “Oh no, it’s nothing like that, I mean he’d like to marry me.”

“I see,” Lexa replied softly. Slowly, she asked, “And would you like to marry him?”

“Well…” Clarke hesitated. She cared about Finn, she knew. But she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with him. Yet she could hardly tell this woman she had only just met that. Finally, she settled on, “I barely even know what to order for lunch.”

Lexa nodded slowly to herself, her eyes lowered to the table.

Clarke wiped her damp palms on her skirt. What was the woman thinking? Did she find her childish? Or foolish for denying Finn? She wished desperately that she could see through those bright green eyes to the thoughts within.

The moment was broken as their waiter approached once more, presenting their plates. “And your meals,” he announced placing the plates in front of them.

The women both thanked him, then Lexa smiled at Clarke again.

“I’m starved,” she said. “Bon appetite.”

Clarke immediately dug into her meal, pleased at how good it tasted. Of course, she shouldn’t have been surprised; Lexa’s taste was obviously impeccable.

“What do you do on Sundays?” the woman asked, bringing a forkful of egg to her mouth.

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Clarke admitted. “What do you do?”

“Nothing, lately.” There was a moment of silence, as Lexa seemed to debate saying something. “Maybe you’d like to come visit me sometime. You’re welcome to. At least there’s some pretty country around where I live. Would you like to come visit me this Sunday?”

“Yes,” Clarke replied without hesitation. Of course she would be interested in spending more time with Lexa.

As she bent to take another bite, Lexa commented, “What a strange girl you are.”

Clarke straightened up, her hand over her mouth, her brows drawn in confusion. “Why?”

Lexa simply looked at her. “Flung out of space,” she murmured.

She took a small sip of her martini, then let out a short, soft laugh, her eyes flicking back up to Clarke’s.

Clarke wasn’t quite sure what to make of the comment, but she felt a warmth in her chest anyway as they gazed at each other. There was something intimate in Lexa’s eyes that drew her in. She had the fleeting thought that she would follow those eyes anywhere.

As they finished their lunch, Clarke followed Lexa back out onto the street. She wound her scarf around her neck as she watched Lexa cross over to a parked topless car, another woman with dark, wild curls waiting in the driver seat.

As Lexa settled into the passenger side, she leaned over the kiss the woman twice on both cheeks.

The other woman put the car into gear and slowly pulled away from the curb, and Lexa turned slightly to wave at Clarke. Clarke returned it, stepping farther onto the sidewalk to watch Lexa’s retreating form.

The last thing she saw before the car drove away was Lexa’s head thrown back in laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

Not two minutes after leaving Scotty’s, Lexa and Costia found themselves in a traffic jam. As they inched along, Lexa began thinking about the party Roan had coerced her into going to.

“Just wait and see Roan’s mother’s face when she sees me in this,” she groaned to Costia. The grey dress was rather form fitting, and she was sure her mother-in-law’s traditional sensibilities would be prickled by it. “Maybe I should stop home and change.”

“Oh, don’t be a stupe,” Costia scolded her.

Lexa sighed, “Maybe I should just not show up.”

Costia glanced at her in exasperation and amusement. “Well then _I’ll_ be blamed for it, so you better just grin and bear it.” She paused for a moment before asking, “You want to tell me about her?”

Lexa glanced quickly at her. “Clarke?” She put on an air of nonchalance before saying, “She returned my gloves.”

“And?” Costia probed knowingly.

For some reason, Lexa found herself unwilling to share how she felt about Clarke. Maybe it was because she wasn’t quite sure, herself. At any rate, she wanted to keep the budding relationship to herself for the moment.

“ _And_ if you don’t get us out of this traffic soon, I won’t have to worry about any damn party,” she deflected.

That succeeded in distracting Costia’s attention, and the other woman glanced around, searching for an opening in the packed cars.

They chatted idly for the rest of the ride. Costia seemed to take Lexa’s deflection at face value, and avoided bringing up Clarke, for which Lexa was grateful. Her nerves were shot as it was.

As Costia pulled up in front of the Jordans’ house, Lexa dug through her purse, wanting to check her makeup one more time.

“Oh, where’s my compact?” she moaned. “God dammit!”

“You look fine,” Costia soothed, putting the car in park.

Lexa turned to her, her eyes imploring. “Come in with me? Just for a little?”

“Oh, don’t even start,” Costia said teasingly. “You’re the one who canceled on us, you nitwit.”

“I know, I know, I’m going, I’m going. Sorry,” she said, her voice high and tight, and climbed out of the car.

“Call me later!” Costia told her.

Lexa patted the door in acknowledgement, then set off down the circular driveway, fluffing her hair as she went.

As she entered the door, she could hear the band already playing, and saw couples swaying in the other room.

One of the staff took her coat, and she wandered back towards the kitchen, keeping an eye out for Roan, but a stiff drink her main goal. The Jordans had set up a makeshift bar, and Lexa sidled up to it, ordering a rye neat.

As she waited for the bartender to pour, she felt someone come up behind her, and heard a deep voice say, “I thought I might find you here.”

Turning around, she found Roan pressed up behind her, dressed smartly in a black suit with a bowtie.

“Roan,” she greeted. “I was looking for you.”

“Apparently not as hard as you were looking for the alcohol,” he said. Rapping on the counter to get the barkeeper’s attention, he ordered, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The man quickly poured them two glasses, and they wandered a little ways away, each nursing their drink in silence.

“Would you like to dance?” Roan asked after a moment, offering Lexa his hand.

She couldn’t say she particularly wanted to, but Roan had that look in his eye that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she placed her hand in his and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

He took them straight into the middle of the floor and pulled her close, swaying them in an easy rhythm while the small, white-suited band played off to the side.

They moved together quietly while Lexa glanced around the rooms at the other couples. They all looked happy enough, but she wondered how many were faking it as she was. How many others were tired of their lives, of doing the same things day in and day out? Or was everyone else content with the way things were, and she was the odd woman out, as abnormal as everyone tried to tell her she was?

Roan seemed to have been watching the other couples as well, as he leaned close to Lexa’s ear and whispered, “You’re always the most beautiful woman in the room.”

As they turned, Lexa caught sight of Nia from across the floor. The woman was watching the two of them with a nasty glare.

“Tell your mother that,” she muttered.

They danced for a few more songs, until Lexa could no longer put up with Nia’s stare. Excusing herself, she retrieved her drink and made her way through the house to the back sunroom.

Lighting a cigarette, she leaned against a large window, thoughts of her marriage, of Tenley, and of the young Clarke swirling confusingly through her head.

“Keep an eye out, will you?” a voice asked, catching her by surprise. It was Maya, carrying a cigarette of her own. “Jasper’ll scream if he catches me with this.”

With a laugh, Lexa turned towards the woman. “What’ll he do, dock your allowance?”

She held up her lighter, and Maya shielded the flame with her gloved hand until the cigarette caught.

“He doesn’t like me to smoke,” she said flippantly, taking a drag.

“So?” Lexa retorted. “You like it.”

Maya hummed in amusement and agreement. Lexa wandered a few steps away, turning back when Maya began to speak again.

“Lexa, I…” She paused, blowing out a long breath. “It’s really not my business, but, if you’re going to be alone at Christmas, Jasper and I would love to have you,” she offered kindly.

“Thanks, Maya,” Lexa said sincerely. She swirled the remaining rye in her glass, then knocked it back in a quick swallow. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “I might get away by myself. At least for a few days.”

Maya looked surprised, but offered her a soft smile, which Lexa did her best to return.

\----------

Clarke followed Bellamy into the back office of the American Museum of Natural History. She had gotten a call from him after her shift, and had gladly accepted his offer for company. She felt a nervous thrill as he guided her towards the backdrops currently being painted – she was excited to meet with Bellamy’s friend and discuss his job.

Bellamy ducked into a side room briefly and reemerged with two cold beers in hand.

As he handed her one, he reassured, “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna break anything if you pick it up.”

Clarke immediately crossed over to the canvases, lightly running her fingers over the array of paints and brushes left out.

“What are your pictures like?” Bellamy asked, leaning against a desk as she moved around the room.

“Oh, I don’t know, not very good, probably,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“No, I mean, what are they?” he clarified. “What do you draw?”

Clarke thought about the stacks of sketchbooks stashed around her apartment. “Birds, trees, windows…” she listed. “Anything really.”

She looked back at Bellamy, studying his plaid shirt and dark, ruffled hair. He didn’t quite match the image of a professor Clarke had in her head. “What do you want to teach about?” she asked him.

“People,” he answered simply. Clarke smiled at that; she liked that way of thinking about history.

“I always feel funny drawing people,” she told him, “like it’s some sort of…” She trailed off, unsure if the sentiment was too odd to express to him.

But he finished her thought. “Invasion of privacy?”

Clarke nodded with a half smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, all of us, you know, we have affinities for people,” he explained. “We like certain people – you like certain people right?” he asked teasingly.

“Sometimes,” she said with a laugh.

“And you don’t like others? And you don’t know why you’re attracted to some people and not others?” he continued on. “The only thing you really know is you either are attracted, or you’re not. It’s like physics; bouncing off each other like pinballs.”

Clarke frowned in thought. “Yeah, but not everything’s as simple as a bunch of pinballs reacting off of each other.”

“No,” Bellamy agreed easily. “Some things don’t even react. But everything’s alive.”

He went silent, then placed his beer on the table beside him. Coming to stand in front of her, he took the beer from Clarke’s hand and placed it aside as well.

His hand reached for her face, and, without making any move to leave, she mumbled, “It’s getting late, I should go.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, curling his fingers around the back of her neck and pulling her forward until their lips met.

The kiss wasn’t unpleasant; Bellamy’s lips were gentle against her own, his hand cupping her neck softly. But as he drew away, she whispered, “You shouldn’t.”

Bellamy back away, concern creasing his brow. “Why, do you mind?”

“No,” Clarke said, not fully believing it. Unbidden, an image of Lexa’s full red lips rose to mind. “I have to go.”

As she quickly gathered her things, he asked, “Will you come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t know…” she deflected, hurrying towards the door.

“Wednesday?” A note of desperation entered his voice.

“Maybe, I – I don’t know,” she stammered as she stepped through the door, closing it firmly behind her.

She hurried back through the museum, wondering if he even knew the backdrop painter at all.

\----------

Lexa clambered out of the car, her head swimming pleasantly from the whiskey she had drunk. She followed Roan to the door, digging in her purse for her cigarette case.

“Here,” Roan said, handing the silver case to her. She had forgotten she had even given it to him.

“Thanks,” she said. “Thanks for staying sober and driving me home.”

Roan unlocked the front door for her and pushed it open as she approached.

“Good night, Roan,” she said as she passed him, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

As she went to enter the house, he caught her arm. She looked at him in muddled surprise.

“Lexa,” he said in a soft voice. “Come to my parents’ house for Christmas. We had a good time tonight.”

“It was one night, Roan,” Lexa sighed.

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone,” he said.

“I’m not alone,” she protested. “I have Tenley, and Cos-” The name began to slip out before she could catch herself.

“Costia,” Roan finished for her, his face hard. “There’s always Costia.”

Lexa looked him in the eye. “Costia and I were over long before you and I were over, Roan.” She looked down for a second, then began to move back towards the door. “I’ll have Tenley packed and ready for you at four on Christmas Eve.”

As she turned to close the door, Roan’s voice stopped her. “It shouldn’t be like this.”

Lexa gazed at him a moment before replying, “I know.”

She took a step back, firmly closing the door between them.

Once fully inside, she stood with her back to the door, hanging her head in weariness. Then, gathering herself together, she made her way into the parlor, where Florence was sitting with a fast-asleep Tenley.

Florence immediately got up, crossing over to the doorway with a respectful nod.

Lexa went over to the couch, scooping up the small girl in her arms, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“My special girl,” she murmured, making her way back towards the stairs.

Before she climbed to the second floor, she turned back towards the housekeeper still in the parlor doorway. “Goodnight, Florence,” she said.

After tucking Tenley into bed, Lexa sat with her for a while, watching her daughter’s chest rise and fall. No matter how unhappy things had become between her and Roan, she could never truly regret their marriage, as it had given her this wonderful little girl to love and care for.

Finally, she came back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she poured herself another glass of rye. Her short conversation with Roan had sucked away the good mood she had managed to curate, and she desperately needed a pick-me-up.

She carried the glass back into the parlor, kneeling to flip the red-and-white cloth away from the train set. She switched it on, watching the little train race around its oval track, thinking of how much Tenley would like it.

But as she took another sip of rye, her thoughts wandered back to Clarke, and the sweet smile on her face when she agreed to come visit.


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke hovered near the edge of the sidewalk in front of the Seventh Ave. entrance to Washington’s. Her eyes trained on the road, she scanned every passing car for the glimpse of a stylish brunette head.

Finn hung behind her, watching her nervously pace.

“Where’s this place in Jersey?” he asked her.

“In the country I think, I don’t know,” Clarke told him distractedly, only glancing at him briefly before returning her attention to the road.

“My Uncle Sal lives in Union City,” Finn said. “He claims it gets pretty dangerous there at night.”

“It’s not Union City,” she retorted, her brows drawing down as she shot him a look.

Finn nodded quickly. “Okay.”

Suddenly, Clarke caught sight of the tan car Lexa had described, and there inside was Lexa. Clarke’s breath hitched as her heart gave a squeeze.

“Oh, there’s my ride,” she said, raising her hand in the air to catch Lexa’s attention. Through the windshield, she saw the woman smile and give a small wave back as she guided the car towards the curb.

Once she had pulled over, Lexa leaned over the passenger seat to pop the door for Clarke, who immediately scrambled in. As she sat down, Finn leaned his head down so he could see inside the car.

“Hi,” he greeted Lexa warily.

Lexa put on a warm smile. “Hello. Lexa Aird,” she introduced herself, extending a gloved hand to him.

Finn took it with a light shake. “Finn Collins. Glad to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Lexa said. Glancing briefly at the girl beside her, she told him, “Clarke speaks very highly of you.”

Finn looked at Clarke as well, a surprised smile forming on his face. “Well, that’s swell. So you’ll get her back safe and sound?”

Lexa put two fingers to her forehead in a mock salute.

Finn smiled back and shut Clarke’s door, staying bent down to look at her through the window.

“Love you,” he called through the glass.

Clarke gave him a wan smile as they pulled away.

Lexa navigated them through the busy streets, weaving in and out of cars and taxis with practiced ease, her gloved hands gliding lightly over the steering wheel.

As they went, a flake or two of white drifted by the windshield.

“I think I see snow,” Lexa pointed out in quiet delight. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?” She paused for a moment, watching the snowflakes whirl through the air. “I love the snow. Makes it feel like Christmas, don’t you think?”

She glanced at Clarke, who only gazed at her in quiet contentment. It was so much to just be alone with Lexa – just the two of them in a small space, the scent of Lexa’s perfume and brush of her hair against her fur collar surrounding Clarke – that she couldn’t gather enough wits to reply. All she could do was watch Lexa’s perfect red lips as they formed idle small talk.

Instead of being put off by Clarke’s silence, Lexa smiled warmly at her, lapsing into quiet as well. She was just as aware of Clarke as the girl was of her – of her bright blue eyes, her small hands folded on her lap. She felt an odd feeling in her chest, one she hadn’t felt in a long time, but turned her attention back to the road before she could dwell on it.

As they passed through the Lincoln Tunnel, Lexa reached over and turned on the radio. Clarke heard the lyrics as if from far away.

_“Just remember, darling, all the while,_  
_You belong to me.”_

They were the words she felt about Lexa. With the flickering yellow light filtering into the car and the brassy song playing in the background, Clarke thought that if time stopped right then, she would be perfectly happy.

But all too soon they emerged back into the weak sunlight.

They drove without speaking for a while more, until Lexa asked, “Clarke, would you mind very much if I made a quick stop? I’d like to get a surprise for Tenley.”

Clarke jerked her attention from where she had been gazing out her side window. “Is that…?”

“My daughter,” Lexa said.

Clarke couldn’t help but sag a little in relief; she had been afraid Lexa was talking about the other woman who had picked her up from lunch.

“No, I don’t mind,” she told the older woman.

Lexa smiled her thanks, turning down the next road and pulling up to a Christmas tree lot.

“Tenley is staying with me for Christmas Eve, and I still don’t even have a Christmas tree,” she bemoaned as she gathered up her purse.

As she opened her door, she paused to look back at Clarke. “You won’t wander off, now will you?” she asked with a wink.

Clarke flushed bright red, pulling a laugh out of Lexa as she climbed from the car.

She watched as the woman crossed the street and wandered among the cut trees, stopping to touch a branch here and there. Finally, she seemed to find one she liked, and came back to speak to the boy tying trees at the entrance, the snow flurrying around her graceful form.

Feeling a sudden burst of inspiration, Clarke dug her charcoal pencil and sketchbook from her satchel. She got out of the car, leaving the door open, and balanced the sketchbook on top of the roof.

As she watched, Lexa turned her head over her shoulder, briefly catching sight of her. Clarke was struck once more with her beauty, and hastened to capture her elegant profile and the way her long curls fluttered in the snowy wind.

She scrambled back into the car as two workers picked up the now-wrapped tree that Lexa had picked, carrying it over towards her.

Lexa opened one of the rear doors, speaking to the boys. “If you can just wedge it between the seats, I think that’ll work fine.”

She quickly slid into her own seat, grinning at Clarke. “Watch your head, now,” she cautioned. “I don’t want any branches scratching those pretty cheeks.”

Clarke swallowed hard, but followed her advice, leaning back against the window as the workers slid the Christmas tree in between them.

No longer able to see her, Clarke heard Lexa roll her window down to speak with the two boys. “Thanks very much boys, and Merry Christmas.”

They chorused their own farewells back at her as she put the car into gear, slowly pulling them back onto the road.

“You all right over there?” she asked through the branches now crowding the car.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Clarke assured her.

She saw Lexa’s leg shift as she pressed harder on the pedal. “We’ll be there soon.”

Sure enough, in only a few minutes they turned into a long, circular driveway. Clarke stared up at the house, its broad front made entirely of gray stone. So this was where Lexa lived.

“Still with me?” Lexa’s voice asked playfully.

Clarke grinned, still pressed against the window, and answered, “Yes.”

They pulled up close to front door, and Clarke quickly got out of the car, eager despite her reassurances to Lexa to get away from the crowding pine branches.

As she stood, she heard muffled voices from the front stoop, followed by the patter of small feet.

Suddenly, a small girl burst from around the corner, running towards Lexa. “Nomon’s home!” she called in her small, high voice. “Nomon!”

A huge smile split Lexa’s face as she caught the girl in her arms. Clarke recognized her from the picture Lexa had shown her when they first met; this must be Tenley, Lexa’s daughter.

“Hello, my darling!” Lexa exclaimed as she swung Tenley up onto her hip. “Guess what I brought you.” She pressed kisses to Tenley’s face as the little girl giggled. “I bet you’ll never guess!”

Lexa began walking towards the front door, her whole attention focused on Tenley. Clarke followed a little ways behind them, watching as she interacted with such enthusiasm with her daughter.

“Is it… blue?” Tenley asked, eager to play her mother’s game.

Lexa laughed as she entered the house. “No, it’s green!”

Clarke paused in the foyer to shed her coat, handing it awkwardly to the housekeeper, who waited nearby. “Thank you…”

“Florence,” the lady supplied.

“Thank you, Florence.” Clarke smiled at her.

She followed Lexa into the back parlor, with Florence close behind to collect Lexa’s coat from where she had discarded it on the couch.

“Oh, Florence, would you have Marshall bring in the tree for me?” Lexa asked the housekeeper.

Florence nodded, exiting the room with their coats.

Lexa gestured to the collection of couches and chairs. “Sit wherever you’d like,” she told Clarke.

Clarke sat at the far end of the couch, watching as Lexa and Tenley sorted through the pile of ornaments, Tenley pulling out all her favorites.

After a few minutes, a large, mustachioed man tromped into the room in thick boots with gardening shears hanging from his belt. He had his arms wrapped around the lower trunk of the tree while Florence held on to the top.

“Oh, wonderful!” Lexa exclaimed, jumping up as they entered the room. “Just bring it right over here to the stand…”

There was a bustle of activity as they got the tree into place. Marshall and Florence screwed it into the stand, while Lexa enlisted Clarke’s help to ensure it was straight, and Tenley bounced excitedly nearby.

When both Lexa and Tenley were satisfied, the housekeeper and gardener left while the three of them stood back to admire the tree.

Suddenly, Lexa threw her hands up in chagrin. “I’ve been a terrible hostess, haven’t I? I never offered you anything to drink.”

“Oh, I’m all right,” Clarke waved her off quickly.

“No, I insist,” Lexa said. “I have liquor, coffee, tea…”

“Well…” Clarke thought that it might be nice to give Lexa some space to share this holiday tradition with her daughter without a strange woman intervening. “I think I might make myself some tea.”

Lexa turned towards the door to the foyer. “I can get Florence back in here to do it.”

Clarke stopped her before she could call out. “No, that’s… I’d like to make it myself, if that’s all right”

“Of course, if you’d like. The kettle should already be on the stove, and I have some loose-leaf tea on the counter. The tea set is in the cabinet above the sink.”

“Thank you,” Clarke nodded.

As she set the kettle to boil and carefully set out the china cups, she listened to Lexa and Tenley talking together as they started to decorate the tree. She was charmed at how obvious Lexa’s care for her daughter was; Clarke could tell she would do almost anything for the girl.

When the kettle began to whistle, she quickly pulled it from the stove, pouring the water over the loose tea leaves in the teapot to steep. She set a tray with two teacups, a dish of sugar cubes, and a cream pot. Carrying the tray over towards the door, she stopped to make a small plate of Christmas cookies she saw on the counter there.

She peaked her head around the doorway, watching as Tenley handed a gold star to her mother, who was standing on a stepstool pushed up against the tree. Lexa placed the star on the highest branch, then stepped down from the stool with a wide smile on her face.

“What do you think?” she asked Tenley.

“Good,” the girl answered, sounding pleased.

Lexa backed up towards the couch, taking in the tree with a playful gasp. “That is the most beautiful Christmas tree in the whole wide world,” she told Tenley, drawing her into her side for a hug.

Clarke took that as her cue to reemerge, carrying the silver tray over to the coffee table. Lexa thanked her with a warm smile as she poured her a cup, and they all settled onto the couches.

Lexa prompted Tenley to tell Clarke about what she wanted for Christmas, and soon the little girl was chatting away, her brightly colored Mary Janes swinging over the side of the couch. Clarke asked her a few questions, but Tenley didn’t need much help to keep the conversation going. Every so often she would glance over at Lexa, who was watching them with a soft look in her eyes.

Later that evening, after Lexa had put Tenley to bed, the two women found themselves in the parlor once more. Lexa was on the floor, her heels sitting next to the couch, laying wrapping paper over the train set. Clarke watched her for a moment, then wandered through the wide archway into the next room.

Sitting down at the piano, she let her fingers dance over the keys for a minute, testing the sound. Arranging her fingers into chords, she began to play “Easy Living” by Billy Holiday, one of the few songs she had memorized.

She only got a few bars in when Lexa asked from her spot on the floor, “Were those pictures of me you were drawing at the tree lot?”

Clarke dropped her hands from the keys, turning towards Lexa apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

Lexa hummed, sounding a little flattered. “Don’t apologize.”

“I’ve just been trying to…” Clarke began, running a finger lightly over the piano keys. “Well, I have a friend who told me I should be more interested in humans,” she said with a rueful smirk.

Lexa chuckled softly. “And how’s that going?” she asked.

Clarke smiled across the room at her. “It’s going well, actually.”

Lexa’s eyes crinkled happily. “I’m glad.”

Clarke turned back to the piano and began to play again, not noticing as Lexa got up from the train set and came behind her.

“That’s beautiful,” the older woman murmured, placing her hands on Clarke’s shoulders.

Clarke was shocked into pausing, the heat of Lexa’s palms seeping through her shirt and speeding her heartbeat. She could almost feel Lexa’s body behind her back. She forced herself to keep playing, and after a moment Lexa let her hands slide off, moving to the side of the piano.

She picked up a book of sheet music, leafing through it briefly before asking Clarke, “Is that what you want to be? An artist?”

Clarke stopped playing once more. “I think so. If I have any talent for it.”

Lexa nodded. “Isn’t that something other people let you know you have?” she asked, wandering over to the large wooden record player and picking up her cigarette case from the top. “All you can do is keep working. Use what feels right,” she said, placing a cigarette between her lips, “throw away the rest.”

“I suppose so,” the younger woman mused.

Lexa lit the cigarette as Clarke thought about her words for a second and sat in the small chair that leaned against the wall with a toss of her hair.

“Will you show me your work?” Lexa queried, looking at Clarke in interest.

“Sure,” Clarke agreed. Then, feeling unsure, she went on, “I mean I haven’t sold anything, or even shown a picture to someone who could buy one. I don’t even have decent supplies. But they’re all at my place, under the sink mostly.”

With a slight smirk, Lexa suggested smoothly, “Invite me round.”


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of the front door opening and closing with a slam startled both women. They looked at each other in surprise, then Lexa grabbed her heels from beside the couch and hurried to the doorway to the foyer.

Standing there was Roan, his hat in his hand, moving towards the stairs.

“Roan,” Lexa called, getting his attention, “what’s wrong?”

Roan looked at her askance. “Nothing,” he told her. “Does there need to be a problem for me to visit my wife?”

Lexa stayed silent, leaning against the doorway to put her heels back on. As she brought one foot up and slipped the shoe over her toes, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing towards the other room. Roan followed her gaze, and through the open archway found Clarke frozen on the piano bench.

He stared at her for a minute in complete silence, then looked back to Lexa. “Who is this?”

Lexa stepped forward quickly, plastering a smile on her face. “Roan, this is Clarke. Clarke, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clarke murmured, inclining her head towards him, her hands clasped firmly in her lap.

Roan glanced between her and Lexa, looking like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t get the words out past his consternation.

In a forced bright voice, Lexa said, “Oh, Roan, while you’re here, I would really appreciate it if you took a look at the kitchen sink. It’s been leaking and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”

He shot another look at Clarke, but finally nodded his head and followed Lexa into the kitchen.

Clarke stayed rooted to her seat for a moment, gazing after Lexa and Roan. The muffled sound of their voices traveled back to where she was sitting, and she slowly climbed from her seat, making her way to the doorway of the foyer. She kept her body half hidden by the archway, turned away so it wouldn’t seem so much like she was eavesdropping.

Roan was already tucked under the sink, only his legs protruding, and Lexa had lit a cigarette and was leaning against the counter across from him.

Clarke could hear their conversation become more and more heated, and made out a couple mentions of Tenley and Christmas before Lexa’s voice finally became clear.

“It’s not fair, Roan,” she said, beginning to pace. “We agreed Tenley could stay with me until Christmas Eve.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Roan asked bitterly. “Do you think I prefer traipsing off to West Palm Beach for the holiday? It was all Nomon’s idea.”

Lexa let out a frustrated breath, snuffing her cigarette out in the glass ashtray on the island. “I’m not ready; she’s not packed! She’s asleep upstairs in bed!” she said, her voice rising. “What about _my_ Christmas with our daughter?”

“I’m sorry, Lexa, it can’t be helped, the flight’s in the morning,” he replied in clipped tones. “And do you think that I’ve packed already?”

A loud metallic clang issued from under the sink as Roan dropped his wrench. Out in the parlor, the sound caused Clarke to jump, and she fixed her full attention on the kitchen.

Roan pulled himself out from under the sink, his face red with anger.

“GOD DAMMIT!” he roared.

He gave a few heaving pants, his arms resting limply at his sides, then looked up through the door and straight at Clarke.

She looked away quickly, but not fast enough. Roan climbed to his feet and walked to the door of the kitchen, still breathing heavily.

“How do you know my wife?” he asked Clarke.

“Roan, please…” Lexa said, coming up behind him, but he put out a hand to silence her.

Clarke stayed half hidden by the doorframe, but looked Roan in the eye. “I work at Washington’s, sir, the department store…” she began to explain.

Lexa cut in. “I ordered a gift from her desk, I forgot my gloves,” she told him. “She returned them and I thanked her.”

Roan stared at Clarke for a moment, then turned back to Lexa with a shake of his head. “Well that’s bold,” he said in a low voice, then stalked past her back towards the kitchen.

Lexa stepped forward, one hand on her hip, her face drawn as if in exhaustion, and started to close the door.

“Can I… do anything?” Clarke asked her, coming out from behind the doorframe.

“Just…” Lexa sighed, “leave it be.” She closed the door between them.

Feeling awkward and unsure what to do, Clarke made her way back to the piano and sat down at the bench. She placed her hands on the keys, but somehow couldn’t make herself play anything. The silence in the house was too thick and oppressive, and she was afraid to break it with her own mediocre playing.

Instead, she caught sight of a tall wooden record player in the corner. As she heard Lexa and Roan’s footsteps on the stairs, she crossed over to it and, not caring what record was currently on the turntable, put the needle down. Christmas songs began to play, and Clarke immediately felt a small amount of the tension ease.

Kneeling down, she opened the cabinet beneath the turntable, revealing stacks of records. She heard Lexa and Roan come back down the steps and exit the front door as she pulled out a book full of vinyls and began to leaf through.

The music was high enough to drown out the murmur of the Airds’ voices outside.

Lexa bent to place the sleepy form in her arms into the back seat of Roan’s waiting car, taking care to buckle her daughter in tightly.

“Okay, snowflake. Give me a big one,” she said, drawing Tenley into a hug. “You’re going to have the most wonderful Christmas, I promise,” she whispered, struggling to keep her voice from breaking, pressing kisses into Tenley’s hair.

“There’s room for you in the car, Nomon,” the little girl said. “You can come with us.”

“Oh, darling. I wish I could,” Lexa told her, taking her small hand in both of hers. “But sometimes, nomons and nontus just decide there isn’t enough room for them in the same place at the same time.” She kissed Tenley’s hand and worked to make her voice more upbeat. “And anyway, Nomon has to stay here and make sure Santa’s elf doesn’t give away your presents to another little girl. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No,” Tenley said with a shake of her head.

Lexa tapped her nose, smiling at the girl’s seriousness.

“I love you, snowflake.” Unable to keep the tears from her voice, Lexa kissed Tenley on the cheek, then the hand, then straightened and closed the car door. She pressed her hand to the window, taking a last look at her daughter.

As she made her way back towards the house, Roan caught her around the waist, bringing her in and burying his face in her hair.

“You smell good,” he murmured, pressing his body to hers.

“You’re drunk,” Lexa told him, keeping herself rigid in his arms. “Roan, I’m cold.”

He let her go, and she looked past him with a pat on his arm. “I’ll – I’ll make you some coffee.”

She stepped quickly towards the door, but Roan caught her wrist, jerking her to a stop.

“I’m not drunk,” he said. Imploringly, he told her, “You can still come with us. Go pack a bag.”

Unable to meet his eye, Lexa replied, “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can,” he said, tugging her closer as she tried to pull away. He took ahold of her arms, his fingers digging into her biceps.

Lexa twisted in his grip, struggling to throw him off of her without drawing Tenley’s attention.

Roan had no such qualms as he began to shout. “What are you gonna do? What’re you gonna do, are you gonna stay here with Costia?” he sneered. “You gonna stay with _shop girl_ in there? What’re you gonna do, Lexa, huh?”

“Stop it!” Lexa hissed, finally jerking from his grasp. She tried to push past him, but he blocked her way.

“God dammit, I put nothing past women like you, Lexa,” he growled.

Lexa paused, looking at him down her nose. “You married a woman like me.”

She elbowed past him, pushing hard enough to knock him to the ground. Roan scrambled to his feet, putting his body between her and the door again.

Pointing a finger at the idling car, he threatened, “If you don’t get in that car with us right now…”

“Then what?” Lexa asked, her voice haughty. “Then it’s over?”

Lowering his hand, Roan said softly, “God damn you. You were never cruel.”

Lexa reached out towards him, unsure what she meant to do but wanting to smooth over the situation. “Roan…”

He knocked her hand aside, striding to the car and getting in. After taking a moment to fuss over Tenley, he gave the driver instructions, and the car pulled away.

Lexa watched until it disappeared down the road, her arms wrapped tight around her torso, then made her way back into the house.

As Clarke heard the front door open, she pulled the needle from the record, causing it to scratch against the vinyl as the music stopped. She stood next to the piano as Lexa made her way into the parlor, not bothering to look at the girl.

“I should call a cab,” Clarke said, wishing Lexa would tell her to stay. She wanted to offer her comfort to Lexa, to have the older woman trust her enough to talk to her.

Lexa opened the ceramic box on the coffee table, her shoulders slumping when she found it empty. “Just when you think it can’t get any worse, you run out of cigarettes.”

Clarke latched on to her words, recognizing a small thing she could do to help. “Oh, tell me where to go, I’ll buy some for you, I don’t mind, really…”

“You don’t have to run out in the middle of nowhere and buy cigarettes,” Lexa said sharply. “I’m fine.”

She brought up her wrist to look at her watch, and Clarke’s heart sank. She was being sent away.

“There’s a train at 8:30, I’ll drive you to the station,” Lexa told her.

Though Clarke’s heart panged at the dismissal, she recognized that Lexa just wanted to be left alone. She quickly grabbed her coat and hat and followed Lexa out the door and into the car.

The ride to the train station was carried out in silence, while Clarke desperately wished for something she could say to make Lexa feel better.

She tried to protest Lexa buying her ticket, but the heartache hidden just behind the woman’s eyes made her arguments feel weak and petty, and she quickly gave in.

Making her way through the train cars, Clarke found an empty set of seats and slid in next to the window. As she waited for the train to start moving, she watched the people who passed, in two or threes, smiling and chatting amiably. Their cheeriness was unbearable. All she could think about was the cold, distant look Lexa had given her before she made her way onto the platform.

Covering her face with her fingers, she was unable to stop her tears from falling.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for an update, but this last episode really inspired me to finish this and give us the story with a happy ending we deserve.  
> Also, I've decided to replace Quint with Roan, who I think fits a little better, since I always believed Harge was at least sort of sympathetic.

The taxi Clarke had caught from the train station pulled up in front of her apartment building, and Clarke quickly paid the driver and scrambled out. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and all she wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep.

As she trod up the stairs, the piercing ring of the hall telephone on her floor reached her ears. She hurried up the last flight of stairs and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she asked, bewildered as to who would be calling at such an hour.

Just as she was thinking it, one of her neighbors stuck her head out of her door. “Do you know what time it is, Miss Griffin?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, it just rang,” Clarke apologized. The woman shook her head but retreated back into her apartment.

Clarke tried again. “Hello?”

There was a moment of silence before a familiar voice spoke. “I was horrible. Earlier,” Lexa said, her voice quiet and somber. “Will you forgive me?”

“Yes, I…” Clarke responded at once, then hesitated. “I mean…” Her immediate reaction was to acquiesce, the draw to Lexa a powerful force. But she was still hurting from the cold brush-off at the train station. She let the silence sit until the older woman spoke again.

“Then will you –” Lexa began, swallowing past the tightness in her throat, “would you let me come to see you… tomorrow evening?”

“Alright. Yes.” No matter how rebuffed Clarke had felt, she couldn’t deny that she wanted to see Lexa again, to talk with her. “I want to… know… I think,” she told her. “I mean, I want to ask you… things. But I’m not sure that you want that.”

Lexa let out a shuddering exhale, cradling the phone close to her lips. “Ask me. Things. Please,” she breathed.

Clarke closed her eyes, trying, in the silence, to marshal her emotions.

Suddenly, down the hall, a group of people burst from an apartment, filling the landing with boisterous, drunken conversation and laughter. Clarke startled upright from where she had hunched over the phone, letting the receiver fall to her shoulder.

When they had gone, she raised it to her ear once more, knowing it was useless. Lexa had already gone. She placed the phone back in its cradle with a click.

\----------

The wind blew Lexa’s red coat about her as she hurried across the street, ducking into the building where her lawyer kept his office. Titus’s cryptic call earlier that morning had concerned her, and she had immediately gotten in her car to drive to the city.

As she exited the elevator, she crossed over to the receptionist’s desk, pulling a small, wrapped parcel from her handbag.

“Merry Christmas, Katherine,” she said warmly.

Katherine looked up at her in surprise, taking the present. “Thank you, Mrs. Aird.”

The elevator dinged behind them, and Lexa turned to find Titus, wearing a gray suit and tie, striding towards her.

“ _There_ he is,” she said, following as he gestured her into his office. “Now will you talk to me?”

He let her walk in front, pulling the door closed behind them. “I just didn’t want you to come all the way down here –”

“Just give it to me straight, Titus,” she cut him off, turning so he could take her coat. “What am I not to worry about until after the holidays?

Titus blew out a breath. “Jerry Rix served some papers this morning, to my complete surprise.” He paused, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “Why don’t you sit?”

Lexa ignored the suggestion, staying in place as he took his own seat behind the desk. “Why is it people think you’ll take bad news better if you’re sitting down?” she asked, pulling off her gloves.

Titus shuffled a few files on his desk. “Roan has sought an injunction which denies you any access to Tenley until the hearing.”

The small smirk Lexa had been wearing dropped from her face. “What?” She regretted not taking the seat now as she clutched the back of the chair in front of her, the shock of his words making her knees grow weak.

“And I’m afraid Roan has changed his mind about joint custody,” Titus continued. “He wants sole custody of Tenley.”

Lexa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “We… already reached an agreement on custody,” she said. Suspicion tickled the edges of her thoughts, and she came around to the front of the chair. “What’s this all about?”

“They’re filing papers on the twenty-ninth in district family court for the permanent custody petition,” he informed her.

“Can he do this?” Lexa asked, her heart clenching in her chest. “Is it right?”

Titus gave a low scoff. “I don’t know if it’s right, but it’s legal.”

“On what grounds?” she asked.

Titus put up his hands, trying to stall. “Let’s wait until after Christmas –”

“On. What. Grounds?” she repeated, unwilling to play his games. She finally took the seat in front of him.

There was a split second of tense silence, then admitted, “They’re petitioning the judge to consider a morality clause.”

“A morality –” Lexa echoed, choking on the phrase. She stared at Titus in disbelief. “What does that mean?”

“I won’t mince words with you,” he said. “Costia Gerhardt?” He paused, waiting for Lexa’s reaction.

She leaned back in here chair, taking a deep breath. She should have known he would use Costia against her.

Titus went on. “Also they’re suggesting similar associations with… well they’re alleging evidence of a pattern of behavior.”

“Evidence of a pattern…” Lexa repeated. “Costia is Tenley’s godmother. Cos- he –” She stopped, realization washing over her. “If he can’t have me, I can’t have Tenley. That’s…”

She rose from her chair and walked a few steps away, her hand rubbing at her forehead. A deep dread filled her stomach. Tenley had been her anchor, her reason to keep going for a long time. What would she do if she were no longer able to see her again? If Roan managed to take even this happiness from her?

“I’m sorry, but they seem serious,” Titus said from behind her.

Lexa turned back towards him. “Wh- when is the custody hearing?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice even.

“Hard to say, with the holidays and the backlog…” he equivocated.

“Your best guess, Titus,” she said tersely.

Titus shook his head. “Not before March,” he told her. “Maybe middle of April.”

Lexa paused, squeezing her elbows where her arms where crossed, trying to process the information. She would have to wait _months_ to learn the fate of her daughter? “Can I see her?”

Titus sighed, looking down at his desk. “Let me put it this way. It wouldn’t be advisable under the –”

“At school?” Lexa interrupted, unwilling to listen to the rest of that sentence. “In an office?”

“The issue is not where, necessarily –” Titus told her.

“Surely, a visit, supervised –” she tried to argue.

He held up his hand. “Lexa, these are serious allegations. Forcing contact before the hearing, you risk inviting further scrutiny concerning your conduct.”

“My _conduct?_ ” Insult and disbelief stained her tone. “Jesus Christ, I’m a _mother_ for God’s sake.”

A heavy silence filled the air, weighed down with the seriousness of the allegations against her. Lexa turned away from Titus, sitting on the edge of a small side table.

“Morality clause,” she finally said. “I see.”

“Do you?” Titus questioned.

“No,” Lexa snapped. “There’s nothing moral about keeping Tenley from me.”

As there was nothing further to discuss, she quickly made her farewells, gathering up her coat, and making her way back onto the elevator. She barely heard Katherine when the woman wished her a merry Christmas as she passed by.

She emerged onto the street as if she was in a fog, everything around her seeming muffled and far away. Lexa had known Roan was angry after catching her with Clarke, but she never expected him to use it against her like this. He was planning to take Tenley away from her, when he knew she treasured the girl more than anything on this earth.

She slid her sunglasses onto her face, desperate for what little shield they provided, and put a cigarette between her lips. As she walked she popped her clutch, digging inside for her lighter and ignoring everything around her.

Suddenly a horn sounded just in front of her, making her jump and flinch as two men roughly pushed past her.

Her flustered nerves getting the best of her, she glanced around and ducked into the doorway of the nearest shop, stilling her trembling hands to lit her cigarette. She took a long drag, throwing her head back and shaking out her hair as she felt the smoke work its way into her lungs.

After taking a couple paces, she felt the cigarette begin to work its calming effect, her heart slowing and her legs ceasing their shaking. She subtly leaned against the shop window, clearing her mind to look at what was inside.

There in front of her, as if placed by fate, was a brand new set of watercolor paints, perched atop a faux blonde wood suitcase. Lexa blew out a mouthful of smoke and stared at it, warring with herself and her thoughts of Clarke, suddenly made unsure of her desires and her actions.


	9. Chapter 9

Finn waited outside as Clarke entered the record shop, her mind on Lexa. Despite herself, she was looking forward to seeing Lexa again, especially since she knew the older woman had never meant to hurt her. That morning, Clarke had inexplicably found herself thinking about Lexa’s record collection, and concocted the plan to supplement it as a Christmas gift for the woman.

Walking up to the counter, she gave her request to the man behind it, watching his back as he turned to rummage through the shelves behind him. He pulled a record from them, placing its pale blue sleeve on the counter in front of her.

After Clarke confirmed it was the right one, the man moved to the side to ring her up. As he worked the register, Clarke looked around her, taking in the small shop.

Turning towards the window, her eyes caught on two women standing close together, their short-haired heads bent together as they shared a single pair of headphones. The woman facing her dressed in slacks and a dark sweater, her lips painted red, while the other is dressed more masculinely, in a jacket over a button down shirt, her eyes framed by thick horn-rim glasses.

Clarke couldn’t pull her eyes away, even as they turned to return her stare. It was obvious they were a couple – their closeness, their evident ease with each other – and unafraid to show it. A picture of she and Lexa in their place popped into her mind, their heads bent close together as the women’s had been, and Clarke wondered at the thrill it sent through her chest.

The man slipped her purchase into a paper bag and handed it to her, finally tearing her attention away. She hands over the requisite money and hurries from the shop, carefully keeping her eyes off the women in the corner.

“Find what you wanted?” Finn asked as she joined him on the sidewalk, grabbing his bike and heading down the sidewalk.

“Yeah, something for someone at the store,” she lied, tucking the record under her arm. She didn’t want him to know it was for Lexa, not after the suspicious way he had acted when the older woman had picked her up. Besides, it felt right to keep the surprise between them, more intimate.

“Oh, that’s nice of you,” Finn said. He paused for a moment, then told her, “You should stop by on Christmas sometime. My mom’s sorta planning on it.”

“Christmas?” Clarke repeated, taken by surprise. She hadn’t even considered spending Christmas day with him. “It’s for families… I’d feel – I don’t know…”

Finn ducked his head to smile at her. “You are family, Princess.”

Clarke stayed silent as they turned down an alleyway leading to her apartment building. She had never expected Finn to ask her to spend Christmas with him. She had planned on him spending the day with his family, and she would pass it alone, as she usually did. Although, if she was being honest with herself, some hazy fantasies had been niggling at the back of her mind of passing the day with a certain statuesque, green-eyed woman…

“I’ve been thinking of putting together a portfolio,” she blurted out, trying to quash the images before they had a chance to fully form. “Of my art, you know? Starting drawing portraits, even. Apply for jobs. Maybe even the museum, Bellamy said he knows someone –”

“Have you been thinking anymore about Europe?” Finn interrupted.

Clarke looked at him in disbelief. Had he been listening at all? She turned away and walked ahead of him.

“Princess,” he called reproachfully. “What?”

She stopped, turning around to face him. “How many times have you been in love?”

He laughed uncertainly. “Never,” he told her. Seeming to realize what he said, he added. “Until you.”

“Don’t lie,” Clarke hissed, her brows slanting in anger. “You told me about those other two girls”

“Come on,” Finn said in exasperation. “They were –” He looked around them for eavesdroppers. “I had sex with them. It’s not the same thing.”

“Meaning I’m different because we haven’t gone all the way?” Clarke accused.

“No, I –” He dropped his defensive tone and wheeled his bike towards her. “Hey, what’s all this about? I love you, that’s what’s different.”

Clarke stared at him expressionlessly. Finn cared for her, sure. But did he really love her? He couldn’t, not when he couldn’t seem to even understand her.

She turned and began walking towards her apartment again, Finn jogging behind her after a moment.

Clarke gripped the record in both hands, her thoughts drifting back to the women in the record shop. “Have you ever been in love with a boy?” she asked Finn.

There was a moment of silence in which Clarke could feel her heart thundering in her throat.

“No!” Finn answered, sounding insulted to even be asked.

Clarke’s heart dropped back to its normal place. “But you’ve heard of it.”

“Of course,” Finn said. “I mean, have I heard of people like _that_? Sure.”

“I don’t mean people like that,” Clarke said in frustration. “I just mean two people who fall in love with each other. Say, a boy and a boy. Out of the blue.”

“I don’t know anyone like that,” he told her as they crossed the street. “But I’ll tell you this – there’s always some reason for it. In the background.”

Doubt began to seep into Clarke’s mind like India ink. “So you don’t think it could just – happen to somebody, to anybody?”

Finn shook his head. “No. I don’t,” he said vehemently. As Clarke stepped onto the stoop of her building, he looked at her in bewilderment. “What are you saying? Are you in love with a girl?”

“No,” Clarke denied, even as the record in her hands spoke to the contrary. Or did it? Was it possible for her to be in love with this other woman, to feel for her in a way Finn had just said was unnatural?

“Don’t you know I want to spend my life with you?” Finn asked her, his voice growing soft. “Come to France with me. Let’s get married.”

Clarke felt hot anger bubble up from within her. “Finn, I’m not ready for that! I can’t just make myself –”

“What?” Finn pleaded. “Tell me.”

Clarke spun away from him, wrenching the door open and stepping through. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“Princess!” Finn called.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated as she pulled the door closed behind her.

\----------

Lexa pushed through the door to the cocktail lounge, scanning the booths for Costia’s familiar face. She spotted the woman near the back of the room, a cigarette gently curling smoke into the air in her hand and two martinis already resting on the table in front of her.

Costia caught sight of her as she walked over and gave her a smile in greeting.

“Now, what was so urgent that you just had to meet?” Costia joked as Lexa slid onto the bench across from her.

Lexa remained silent for a moment, swirling the alcohol in the glass Costia had slid towards her. She took a quick gulp, welcoming the burn of gin as it slid down her throat.

“It’s about Tenley.”

Costia’s playful demeanor dropped away immediately. “What happened?”

Fighting to keep her voice from trembling, Lexa related the details of her meeting with Titus that morning.

There was a moment of deep silence, as Costia adsorbed what Lexa herself was still trying to comprehend. It hit her all at once how much she would miss her daughter, stealing her breath in a hollow gasp. She wouldn’t be able to make Tenley a snack, or tuck her in at night, or brush her hair…

“I found Tenley’s hairbrush underneath my pillow this morning. Full of her hair.” Lexa glanced up at Costia, the corner of her mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile. “She does that, you know, to let me know she’s been a good girl and brushed properly.” The smile dropped away as she slowly shook her head back and forth. “Usually I clean it out, but today, for some reason...”

“How could he,” Costia finally spoke up, fire underneath her low voice. “How _dare_ he. A morality what?”

Lexa lifted her martini to her lips. “Clause, he said.” She took another long sip.

“Oh, Lexa,” Costia breathed. She leaned forward earnestly. “If I’m responsible in any way –”

“Don’t you dare,” Lexa cut her off. She couldn’t bear for Costia to blame herself. “Don’t you ever.”

She fixed Costia with a piercing stare, then slid her martini glass roughly over the table for a refill. A tiny smile formed on her face.

Costia returned it, pouring the leftover contents of the shaker into both their glasses. Lexa plucked the olive out of her glass and delicately pulled it from the skewer with her teeth.

Costia took a drag on her cigarette, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Anyway, I’ve got my eye on this redhead who owns a steak house outside of Paramus. I’m talking _serious_ Rita Hayworth redhead.”

Lexa tilted her head back in a laugh. “Really? You think you’ve got what it takes to handle a redhead?” she teased.

Costia didn’t respond, and the atmosphere grew serious again.

“You going somewhere?” she asked.

It always amazed Lexa how well Costia could read her. “West, I thought...” she admitted. “At least for a few weeks, until the hearing. What else am I going to do?”

“Well, I know you don’t like driving alone. So.” Lexa could sense the unanswered question in her words, just as Costia could read the answer in her eyes. “She’s young. Tell me you know what you’re doing.”

Lexa shook her head slowly. “I don’t,” she told her friend and one-time lover, a sad smile on her lips. “I never did.”


	10. Chapter 10

A series of firm knocks sounded on Clarke’s door, startling her from where she had been drying the last of her dishes. Could that be Lexa already? She hadn’t heard her doorbell ring…

Throwing the towel back over the lip of the sink, she quickly smoothed her skirt as she made her way to answer the door. Flipping open the lock and pulling the door ajar, she revealed Lexa waiting in the hall, a coy smile already on her face.

“Your landlady let me in,” she told Clarke, gesturing towards the stairs with her head.

Clarke stood frozen in the doorway, feeling stunned. Lexa was here, at her apartment door, in her elegant coat with her long, curling hair spilling over her shoulders. It was almost like a dream.

A scraping sound drew her attention to the threshold, were Lexa was pushing a tan suitcase towards her with her foot.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. When Clarke made no move towards it, she urged, “Open it.”

Clarke kneeled down next to the suitcase, looking at Lexa again before laying it on its back and popping the latches. Inside was a box full of tubes of watercolor paints, surrounded by a scatter of paintbrushes and charcoal pencils.

Clarke lifted the paints from the suitcase, turning them over in her hands in wonder. She had been yearning for a set like this, but had never had enough money.

“Lexa…” she breathed, at a loss for words. She glanced up at the woman, whose lips were tilted in a pleased smirk.

“I remember you saying you wanted better supplies,” she said. A faint line formed between her brows. “I was assured these were high quality…”

“Yes, yes!” Clarke jumped upright, assuring her. “These are… they’re amazing.”

Lexa hummed in approval, her smile returning.

The silence stretched, threatening to become awkward before Clarke shook herself from her surprise, remembering her manners.

“I’m so sorry, I haven’t even invited you in,” she apologized, beckoning Lexa into her entryway. She quickly gathered up the suitcase and placed it against the wall as Lexa wandered further into her apartment, setting it on her bed before rejoining Lexa in the main living area.

“You have a lovely little place here,” Lexa complimented, gazing around the small room with its mismatched furniture.

Clarke gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Well, it is little. But it’s alright.”

Lexa smiled at her. “Would you mind if I…?” She twirled her finger to indicate her desire to look around.

“Oh, no, go ahead,” Clarke answered, and Lexa nodded her thanks.

Clarke made her way to her record player, picking out a record and putting needle to vinyl, all while keeping Lexa in the corner of her eye. She watched as the woman leisurely made her way around the room, her fingers running over couches and bookshelves as she walked. Clarke’s heart beat in her chest, hoping Lexa’s refined tastes wouldn’t cause her to look too poorly on Clarke’s secondhand furniture and cheap prints of famous paintings on the wall.

Lexa wandered into the kitchen and Clarke follows behind her, fidgeting as she stopped to scan the collection of drawings she had pinned to the wall next to the door.

A watercolor of a sunset, the orange fading to purple over a dark green forest. A tower, its cylindrical frame rising high above the surrounding buildings. A pair of hands outstretched.

Lexa stilled as her eyes caught on a sketch of herself. It was from the Christmas tree lot, when Clarke’s fingers flew to capture Lexa as she looked back over her shoulder, to trace the lithe line of her back and swirl of her hair in the wind.

“It’s not that good,” Clarke spoke up, noticing her attention. “I was rushed, I mean... I can do better.”

Lexa’s lips curled in a small smile, disagreeing entirely. “It’s perfect.”

Her gaze drifted lower, to the only photograph on the wall. It was a small picture, showing a young girl of about five, her blonde pigtails held back with ribbons.

“Is this you?” Lexa asked hoarsely, her fingertips hovering over the cardboard frame. The round face, soft cheeks spread by a gap-toothed smile, reminded her too much of Tenley’s own sweet grin.

Behind her, Clarke smiled to herself, remembering the time when the photo was taken. “Yes,” she confirmed.

Lexa continued to stare for a moment, then turned away abruptly, heading back into the living room.

“Do you have anything other than paints in the icebox?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips to stop their shaking. She couldn’t find it in herself to look at Clarke. “I- I’m feeling –”

“Sure,” Clarke said, pulling the thick fridge door open and grabbing two beers. In all honesty, that was about all that was inside, but at least she had something to offer the woman.

As she picked up the bottle opener, she slowed, hearing the sound of sniffles behind her.

She turned, looking towards Lexa. The woman had perched on the arm of the couch and was now hunched over, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Her shoulders shuddered with suppressed sobs.

Clarke’s heart clenched at the sight. She set the beers down, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure what to do. Though she had only known the woman a short time, she knew that Lexa always did her best to keep her emotions composed. What could have happened to make her break down like this? It felt wrong, almost painful to see her cry.

Clarke stepped forward tentatively, laying a hand on Lexa’s shoulder and rubbing slightly. Lexa let out a soft noise of surprise, flinching slightly and turning her face away. But even as she did, her opposite hand drifted up, seeking out and covering Clarke’s own.

As the tears she couldn’t suppress dripped down Lexa’s face, Clarke sidled up next to her, getting as close as she could without touching her. She brought her other hand up to join her first, her thumb running soothing circles over Lexa’s knuckles.

There was a long, still moment, only broken by Lexa’s quiet sobs, until finally her tears slowed. She turned her face towards Clarke, briefly pressing her cheek to the girl’s hands still on her shoulder before looking up at her.

“I’m sorry for that,” Lexa said, her eyes red-rimmed and shining.

Clarke’s heart went out to her. She wanted to do whatever she could to make Lexa feel better.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” she told Lexa, giving her hand a tiny squeeze before pulling away. “Then, would you… like to talk about it?”

Lexa looked down, and Clarke was pierced by the fear that she would pull away. But she looked back up, and her eyes were soft.

“Yes, I think I would,” she murmured.

Clarke let a tiny smile steal over her face, then went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As it percolated, she came back to the doorway, gripping the frame and leaning into it with her shoulder.

“When I’m upset,” she said, drawing Lexa’s attention, “I like to go up to the roof to think. Do you want to go?”

Lexa smiled at her. “That sounds lovely.”

Clarke returned the smile with a duck of her head, then returned to the coffee pot to pour two mugs. She made her way back into the living room, waiting until Lexa had shrugged into her coat to hand her hers. Quickly pulling on her own jacket, she led the way from her apartment up the stairs and onto the roof.

She settled in her usual spot against the block of ducts, leaving Lexa to wander near the edge of the roof, staring into the street below. Cradling her coffee in her hands, she waited in silence for Lexa to speak.

It took a while for Lexa to find the words as she paced back and forth, but eventually she began to talk. In slow, trembling tones she told Clarke about what her lawyer had told her that afternoon, of what Roan had done and what it would mean for her and Tenley. How he meant to take her daughter away from her.

By the time Lexa stopped talking, Clarke’s cheeks were wet with sympathetic tears, her coffee on the ground beside her, forgotten.

After a moment, she spoke up. “Is there any point in, I don’t know... fighting it?”

“The injunction?” Lexa looked at her, then shook her head. “No.”

Clarke felt like a heavy weight was pressing on her chest. She wracked her brain for any way she could help, coming up empty at every turn. “I feel – useless,” she admitted. “Like I can’t help you or offer anything –”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Lexa told her.

Though Clarke was sure she had only meant to reassure, the comment stung. What if she _wanted_ it to do with her? Did Lexa think she didn’t care? That if there was something she could do, she wouldn’t jump for the chance?

Lexa paced for another few steps. “I’m going away for a while,” she said.

Clarke started at Lexa’s words, her anger abruptly replaced with dismay.

“When?” she asked, trying to hide the pounding of her heart. “Where?”

Lexa scoffed lightly, smirking. “Wherever my car will take me.” Her expression fell to seriousness. “West. Soon.”

She looked down at her coffee, swirling it in its mug.

Haltingly, she continued. “And I thought... perhaps, you might like to come with me.”

Clarke looked up, meeting Lexa’s green eyes in the dim light reflected from the streetlamps below.

“Would you?” Lexa asked softly, almost timidly.

Warmth bloomed in Clarke’s chest, filling her with a joy she had never felt before. Whatever her feelings for the woman were, she knew that she desperately wanted her in her life. And to know that Lexa wanted the same…

“Yes,” she said steadily, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, I would.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You don’t even know her!”

Clarke had woken early that morning, too much anticipation buzzing around inside her to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night. Lexa, in her apartment. The way she had leaned into Clarke’s touch as she cried. How beautiful she had looked on the roof, highlighted by the soft streetlights below as the snow fell lightly around them. The way her voice had gone soft and hesitant went she asked Clarke to come with her.

Clarke had immediately begun packing her new suitcase, gathering up any clothes she thought she might need. She didn’t even know where they were headed, other than “west.” It didn’t matter. She would be by Lexa’s side.

She called Washington’s, informing them of her immediate departure, unable to bring herself to care much that she was quitting in the middle of one of the busiest time of the year.

Almost as an afterthought, she called Finn over to let him know that she was accepting Lexa’s invitation. But as soon as he arrived, the happy, blissful bubble she had been floating in all morning had popped. He had nothing but protests from the moment she told him. But she wouldn’t just let him decide what she did or didn’t do any longer.

“You can forward any mail to Chicago, General Post,” she told him, moving around her apartment as she continued to pack. “I just paid rent through February. I had a little extra… money saved…” She glanced at Finn a little guiltily.

“For our trip,” Finn filled in the blank. “ _Our trip_ , Princess. And now you’re –” He threw up his hands, pacing away from her. “I don’t believe this is happening!”

Clarke followed him, leaning against the doorframe as she tried to think of some way to make him understand. “I can’t explain it. I just –”

“What?” Finn turned back towards her, his brows drawn over his eyes. “You’ve got one hell of a crush on this woman is what. You’re like a schoolgirl.”

Clarke felt her whole body flush. “I do not – I just like her is all,” she protested, spinning back to her suitcase. “I’m fond of anyone I can really talk to.”

Finn’s mouth twisted, his expression part angry and part wounded. “Nice,” he called after her. He put his hands on his hips, half turning away before spinning back and following Clarke into her bedroom. “You know what I think? I think two weeks from now you’re gonna be wishing –” He cut himself off before starting again. “She’s gonna get tired of you and you’re gonna wish you never –”

“You don’t understand!” Clarke shouted, interrupting him and walking away.

Finn followed her. “Oh I do – I understand completely. You’re in a trance!”

Clarke spun to face him. “I’m wide awake. I’ve never been more awake in my life! Why don’t you leave me alone?”

There was a long moment of silence as Clarke snatched up a few more articles of clothing and threw them in her suitcase. Finn watched her, his face stormy.

“Are we over?” he asked finally. “Is that what this is?”

Clarke touched her forehead in frustration, refusing to turn and look at Finn. “I didn’t say that. But why should I want to be with you if all you do is argue about this?”

“To say –” Finn began to pace down the hallway. “To say for one minute you practically want to say goodbye because of some silly crush!”

“I didn’t say that, you said it,” Clarke protested.

Finn stared at her in disbelief. “You made me buy boat tickets. I got a better job for you...!” He ducked into the other room, returning with his hat already on his long hair as he pulled his coat over his shoulders. “I asked you to marry me, for Chrissakes...”

Clarke took a step forward, leaning towards him angrily. “I never _made_ you – I never asked you for anything.” She continued in a cold voice, “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Finn pointed a finger at her chest, his voice a growl. “I swear to you, in two weeks, you’re gonna be begging me to forget this whole thing ever happened.”

He spun on his heel and stalked towards the door without another word.

“Finn…” Clarke called, trying to follow him, suddenly ashamed at how she had acted towards him. “Finn!”

“Have a great trip, Princess!” he told her bitterly as he slammed the door behind him.

Clarke stood at the door for a long moment, her forehead resting against the cool painted wood. Her mind felt jumbled, full of confused emotions. She hated to fight with Finn. He had always been kind and caring towards her, if a little dismissive of her interests. She just didn’t understand why he was so upset about this whole Lexa thing. Clarke had meant what she said earlier; she felt she could really talk to the older woman. There was a connection between them, different than anything she had felt before. And she wanted to be near to Lexa, to spend as much time with her as she could. If Clarke was sure of anything at the moment, it was that.

She pushed away from the door and returned to her suitcase, continuing to fold sweaters to pack. If Finn thought their relationship was over, then maybe it should be. Clarke couldn’t bear to spend any more time with someone who didn’t even try to understand her.

Her decision made, Clarke felt lighter than she had in months. She felt a smile begin to tug at the corners of her mouth, her heart beating faster at the thought that soon she would be at Lexa’s side.

With a small gasp, Clarke suddenly remembered the record she had bought for Lexa the day before. She hurried to her closet, pulling the record and a roll of wrapping paper out and carrying them to her kitchen table. Carefully, she measured and cut the paper, meticulously smoothing it over the record and making sure the corners were clean and sharp. Taking out a tag decorated with ornaments and bells, she filled it out in neat handwriting, “To Lexa, from Clarke,” barely catching herself from signing it with love.

She gently tucked the gift in her suitcase between two of her sweaters, her chest growing warm as she imagined Lexa’s reaction. She keenly hoped the woman would like it.

After stowing the suitcase by her front door, Clarke sat back at the table, fidgeting as she thought about her trip with Lexa. She could hardly wait. Weeks on end traveling with Lexa. They could go anywhere they chose, do anything they liked. Just the two of them.

As these tantalizing thoughts swirled through her head, Clarke found she truly _couldn’t_ wait. Tomorrow was too far away, the pull towards Lexa too strong. She sprung up from her chair, throwing on her coat, hat, and shoes before snatching up her suitcase as she left the apartment. With a satisfying click she turned her key in the lock, not sparing the door a backwards glance as she made her way out of the apartment building. She didn’t know when she’d be back, but she wasn’t afraid; all she could do was look forward.

Since she couldn’t ask Finn for a ride on his bike anymore, Clarke hailed a cab, directing it to the train station. She knew which station was Lexa’s from the disastrous train ride only a few days ago. Clarke marveled at how much things had changed in so short a time. Now, instead of boarding the train in despair, turning her face from the other passengers, she felt a connection to them, struggling to keep her own smile from her face. She spent the train ride in breathless anticipation, watching the scenery rush past her window, wishing for the miles to melt away even faster.

Clarke disembarked in a rush, her heart beating in excitement, but froze as she made her way onto the platform. She had no way to get to Lexa’s house, she realized. Nor did she know Lexa’s address to get a cab. But she did have change for the payphone, which luckily still had its phone book.

After rifling through the “A”s to find Lexa’s number, which she quickly jotted into the margin of her sketchbook, Clarke took a moment to calm herself, suddenly nervous about calling Lexa. She had taken off without really giving a thought to how Lexa would react to her showing up unexpectedly a day early. Would Lexa be happy at the surprise or put off?

There wasn’t much for it at that point. Taking a deep breath, Clarke spun the dial and listened through the receiver as Lexa’s phone rang.

Finally, a familiar voice came through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Hello, Lexa? It’s Clarke,” Clarke greeted.

“Clarke,” Lexa said warmly, immediately easing some of Clarke’s nervousness with her rich voice. “Is something the matter?”

Clarke shook her head, forgetting for a moment that Lexa couldn’t see her. “No it’s just… Well, I had wanted to make it more of a grand surprise but – I’m stuck at the train station.”

“The train station?” Lexa questioned in confusion. “You mean the one here?”

“Yes,” Clarke answered, her breath catching as she waited for Lexa’s response.

There was a moment of silence, then Lexa let out a soft, warm laugh. “Well, that is a lovely surprise. Do you need me to come pick you up?”

Clarke couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that left her lips at Lexa’s good humor. “Yes, I mean, if it isn’t too much bother.”

“No, no bother at all. I’ll be right there,” Lexa assured her, followed by a click and static as she hung up.

Clarke replaced the phone on its hook, a smile overtaking her face.

She chose a wooden bench and sat down, fidgeting impatiently as she waited. Her excitement and anticipation had returned full force, making the short time it took Lexa to get there feel like an eternity.

At last, she appeared at the edge of the platform, her long curls swept over one shoulder, one slender, gloved hand raised in greeting.

Clarke immediately sprung upright, snatching up her suitcase and hurrying to Lexa’s side.

“Hello, Lexa,” she said, a little breathless, her mind refusing to come up with anything witty to say now that she was in the presence of the woman.

“Hello, Clarke.” Lexa smiled at her, her hand coming up to cup her bicep. After a moment it continued upwards as Lexa brushed her fingers across Clarke’s cheek. “Your cheeks are absolutely red, you must be freezing.”

Until that moment Clarke hadn’t noticed, but now that she had pointed it out, she could barely feel her toes. She nodded emphatically, and Lexa guided them to her car, turning on the heat full blast.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as they started away before Lexa spoke up.

“It’s wonderful you were able to come out tonight,” she said. “It will make things so much easier in the morning now that I don’t have to drive into the city to pick you up.”

Clarke’s heart sank for a moment – was she only pleased to see her because it helped their travel plans? – before Lexa turned to her with a small smile on her lips and warmth in her eyes. “I have to admit I was getting impatient for our trip to begin. I’m glad you decided to surprise me.”

Clarke returned her smile, a sense of fullness taking up residence in her chest. The rest car ride was filled with a cozy quiet and seemed to take no time at all. Lexa ushered Clarke into the house, leading her to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee. They stood around the counter as they drank instead of sitting, only speaking up sparingly to offer an opinion on the weather, or wonder what the condition of the roads would be like come tomorrow.

Soon enough, Clarke was following Lexa up the stairs and down the hall into the guest bedroom. The room was decorated elegantly in earthy tans and browns, and the wide bed was covered in a plush blanket made of pure white fur.

“Will you be all right in here?” Lexa asked softly.

Clarke walked over to the bed, running her fingers through the thick fur of the blanket. “Yes, this is lovely,” she said, trying to infuse her voice with as much sincerity as she could.

Lexa smiled at her. “Goodnight, then,” she replied, turning back into the hallway. Her eyes lingered for a moment, catching with Clarke’s in a way that made her shiver, before pulling the door close behind her.

Clarke changed into her pajamas quickly and climbed into bed, pulling the fur blanket up to her chin. Despite herself, she fell asleep quickly, her mind filled with Lexa’s hand on her cheek and the depths of her green eyes.


End file.
